steady as we go (last update: april 14th)

This page will be a separate entity from the rest of the bulk of my blog. It’ll be its own organism. It will be more intimate and in many ways is unrelated to what goes on in the rest of my posts outside this little area of my blog. I don’t want it to take away from my ramblings and I don’t want it to enhance it. It’s much the same way I will handle my real life, as you will see. So light the fire and pull up a chair; I’m going to tell a story.

Part 1 – of an uncertain amount of parts in a story with an uncertain middle and end:

Steel blue is the colour of the sky. Whispers of white clouds brush across it in puffed sweeps. The sun is hot and shines heavily against crunchy grass. There must be lavender close because the air comes with delicate breaths of sweetness. There is no desire to move from this place ever again; not when a ladybug touches down on alabaster skin; not even when a spider crawls across tiny knolls of outstretched fingertips.

Boundless is the hushed meadow. Clinging leaves sing when the wind blows making the long trunks of arthritic trees creak. A chicory plant would be standing mighty and alone if not for the aphids stuck in its trickling milk. A blue heron’s cries pierce the atmosphere as wings flap in lumbering waves.

Her eyes blink and life continues its rhythm in the field.

The heat feels familiar by way of a memory where a swing sways from the seasoned branch of an old Hemlock. Nearby, bed sheets waltz on a line and an indistinguishable tune travels through the trees in a low hum. Black flies toil in circles, trapped in the rays of the late afternoon sun. A doll with a torn dress lies in the grass fixated on the sky before she is scooped up and thrown in the air then caught between the soft, smooth fingers of a child. A lingering kiss against a cheek made of plastic cools the lips before I love you comes out in a secret.

The clouds are changing back in the meadow. Shadows crawl back into the trees and the chicory shivers. A raven caws toward the shrouded sun and settles on a tired wooden fence. A lulled heat links with a moist breeze. The ladybug takes flight. A raindrop hits and gently trickles down the path of her nose then drips onto the sensitive flesh of her inner arm. Stillness remains and her eyes open slowly. The grass makes a quiet noise now.

The earth begins to smell like a savoury harvest as rain reaches the ground in splashes and soaks her long, mahogany hair. A memory grows from the aroma where decaying steps jut from a porch that is attached to an exhausted, yellow home. She sits here drinking Chai tea in the early afternoon of a season coming to an end. A dark grey sky hangs low and birch trees look electric by the last moments of sun. Inside, sounds of chatter are flavoured with spices of laughter. Quietude warms her shoulders and a tight smile moves across her lips as the sky roars. The weather drowns the discomfort of reality but seconds seem to transpose into raindrops falling quickly from the sky; they tick more urgently now.

A hand touches heavy on her shoulder.

“Why don’t you come inside? There’s a fresh pot of tea on.”
“A few more minutes, if that’s alright.”
“Yes of course. Are you getting wet?”
“No, I’m fine.” Lightning cracks the sky.
“Okay. See you soon, then.”

A weary door creaks on a tight spring, then snaps shut.

Strands of dark hair sting her eyes as the wind whips harder. The old house grieves the chill and groans. Through the pane, family and friends laugh through foreign smiles that quickly vanish into the brim of a steaming mug. A noisy truth in the room weaves into the hopeful prayers that were whispered the night before.

The lea is quiet again; a rabbit comes to visit. Tiny fluttering whiskers tickle her palm and wake her from a ladened slumber. A delicate smile stretches half way and fades quickly because it doesn’t feel right. The rabbit stays beside her eating the grass and eventually falls asleep in the curve of her body. She closes her eyes and finds comfort in the warmth and twitching.

“Where do you want to to go?” A little voice asks.

Her eyes open to her altered reflection in two shiny blue shoes with silver hearts fastened to jeweled buckles.

“What do you mean?”
“You must think of some place you want to go.”
“I’m sorry, I feel so tired, I don’t want to move.”
“I’ll take care of how you get there. You just tell me where you want to go.”
“Warm. By an ocean. I hear waves crashing and gulls crying.”
“Okay.”

Tiny, cool fingertips gently move strands of hair off her cheek and tuck them behind an ear adorned with a delicate diamond. “I remember those.”

“It’s you.”
“Yes,” whispers the little voice.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever seen you again.”
“It’s not something I could have promised to you then.”
“I know, I understand.”

A small hand extends down to her.
“Take my hand.”
She does as she is requested, gently grasping four small fingers. A little thumb wraps around the back of her hand. She rises, slowly.
“I feel like I’ve spent a lifetime lying in this field.”
“You have. Come with me.”

A deliberate walk along the wet ground is spent in complete silence as she and the little child hold hands tightly. Every so often, she looks down at the little one. Her skin is creamy and her hair like golden wheat fields. Her little mouth is red like a cherry tomato with a lower lip that pouts all on its own. Her eyelashes! How remarkably long and thick they are. She looks like a doll. But, for someone so delicate, there is an unusual feeling of strength in the little girl. 

“I’m feeling tired, are we almost there?”
“Yes, we are. Once we enter the forest, you will be at your beach.”

The last steps tire her and her knees almost buckle.

“Listen, you can hear the seagulls now.”
“I can smell the ocean.”